


Case 196: The Adventure Of The Soul Singer (1902)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [251]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Starsky & Hutch, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Caring, Destiel - Freeform, Exhaustion, F/M, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostitution, Singing, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ American detective David Starsky is visiting England for a year and is worried about his partner Ken Hutchinson, who keeps slipping away of an evening. The answer is rather surprising....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vignahara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vignahara/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

It is as they say a small world, and before I narrate this curious little adventure John says that I should mention a small service I did for someone helped by me in a most unusual manner, to wit Constable Lancelot Simpkins. The name might recall to readers one of our very early adventures together, the St. Pancras case from 1878 involving a cap found besides a murdered policeman. That hero had been Constable Simpkins' brave father Percival, and the Metropolitan Police Service had (for once, John would doubtless put in) acted honourably in settling a generous amount on the dead man's widow. A collection had also raised a further amount which I had contributed to so that young Lancelot, whose existence his father was unaware of as he was born eight months after his murder, could have a good start in life.

I had not been surprised when the young man had joined the service at eighteen and he had looked set for a good career until a recent incident that had led to my having to get involved in his life for what was technically the second time, albeit the first since he had been born. Two young thugs had tried to assault young Lady Fiona Grasmere on her way home from the theatre and young Simpkins had beaten them off although he had sustained some injuries himself which John helped to treat. Lady Fiona's father the fearsome Hubert Lord Grasmere was less than pleased when his daughter then wished the boy to court her, as were all the other young bucks in society who thought themselves _far_ more suitable candidates. John and I visited the boy and his mother, and it was agreed that I would belatedly become a godfather to the boy (I knew that I could rely on Miss Charlotta Bradbury to make sure that the records showed that that had always been the case), this giving him a 'social leg-up' that made his suit much more acceptable. The only downside was that it now meant I would eventually have a wedding to attend, although John's suggestions as to what me might do to me when I returned still in my suit.... yes. 

Hell yes!

֍

I pressed my fingers together and looked appraisingly at the gentleman sat in the famous fireside chair. Detective David Starsky was over here on a year's secondment from from the Los Angeles Police Department which, presumably having money to burn, had sent him and his colleague over here to see how we did things in the Old Country. Or as he put it, 'because we arrested the chief's daughter for doing drugs and he wasn't exactly over the moon about it'.

“There might be any number of reasons why your partner is going out of an evening”, I said, quietly thinking that there was one very obvious one and a certain Mr. Godfreyson might soon be being applied to for information. Or a certain Cornish ex-fisherman whose visits to Baker Street never made John jealous in any way, shape or form, especially the one this morning over which John was still not pouting and, had it not been for our current client's advent, would have led to a morning behind closed doors with the red marker flipped across and my being wonderfully sore for the rest of the day. Ah well.

“I bet we're both thinking of the same one”, the detective said morosely. “Hutch is an attractive guy but I never thought he swung that way.”

“Quite a few men who work in that industry only 'swing that way' for the money, which is highly remunerative”, I said. “Coincidentally one of them was round earlier, a friend of mine.”

I could actually _hear_ John's pout. He had arrived back from a patient to find Lowen leaving and had been pouting ever since. I made a mental note to 'accidentally' let drop a few comments about how attractive our friend looked; a jealous John was a wonderful thing as he always abandoned his traditional reserve and let rip. Although not that far into the future he would be on the receiving end as the Cornishman had kindly brought yet another 'plaything' to help me do just that. If the fellow was not happy with his Philip I would have thought he was trying to kill John through sexual means, which really should have been discouraged. 

I would get round to it. Some time.

“Hutch?” I asked, pulling myself back from some Very Happy Thoughts.

“Ken Hutchinson”, our visitor explained, “but the station already had a Ken so everyone calls him Hutch. 

“This does sound intriguing”, I said. “Bearing in mind what may be the most likely solution however, I do advise you not to confront your partner if only for your own peace of mind.”

The detective looked confused.

“He may decide that he wishes to talk to you all about it?” I suggested with a smile.

His horrified look almost made me laugh.

“Oh no!”

֍

Once we had had dinner I made sure to make the aforesaid remarks about our Cornish acquaintance. That was coincidentally also the first time that John had not only all but ripped my clothes off in our main room but had then fucked me while I was upside down and he grabbed my legs while staking his claim on me. 

As I said, totally not jealous.

֍

The following morning I sent out a couple of telegrams before returning to my beloved. 

“You are not still jealous over Lowen coming round, are you?” I teased.

“No!” he said not at all defensively. “I just do not like the way he looks at you still.”

“Maybe you need a distraction”, I smiled. “I have something which I think may help.....”

֍

John moaned so prettily as I inserted the vibrator that Lowen had brought. It was not as knobbly as The Shredder that we used only very rarely, or as long as The Python which reached the parts that I doubted even the most well-endowed men at Lowen's workplace could reach, although it might be as surprising as The Fire-raiser which was the one with the clever chemicals that expanded its nodules until the wearer was screaming for mercy. We would soon find out.

Electricity was in its early days back then but we did have a clockwork vibrator which gave a solid five minutes of pleasure before it had to be rewound again. John doubtless thought that The Timer was the one currently being inserted into him. He was wrong, but not completely so.

“A simple test”, I said. “If you can resist coming by the time this device has stopped, then I will go to that bakery you like near Mr. Quinton's house in Paddington and buy you three whole pies for yourself.”

His eyes widened in surprise, then he looked at me suspiciously. I smiled brightly.

“I shall just sit here beside you are read”, I said.

“Oh”, he said suspiciously. “All right.”

“Naked”, I added.

And there was the rapid breathing again!

֍

Five minutes in John was visibly suffering but determined to get his pie. I watched with a grin as he was clearly waiting for the five minutes to be up. 

And waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

“Did I not mention?” I said lightly as I stroked my cock and he gazed hopefully at it. “This is the latest invention. A multiple clockwork vibrator, with more than one winding mechanism for _infinitely_ longer pleasure.”

“How much longer?” he gasped, looking at me in horror. 

“Well”, I said pretending to do some calculations on my fingers, “let me work it out. Twelve mechanisms at five minutes each – I would make that a good solid hour.”

He whimpered in dread. As well he might.

֍

John made it to the fourth mechanism before he came with a despairing wail, although when I offered to remove the vibrator the horny bastard shook his head. He came twice more before it was done, and after I had cleaned him up he was asleep in seconds. And yes, I did send out for his pies before joining him. He had so earned them!

֍


	2. Chapter 2

It was not John's lucky week, for the telegram I sent round to Mr. Godfreyson about Detective Hutchinson's potential night-time activities was indeed answered by none other than his deputy and John's least favourite Cornish ex-fisherman. Who really did not need to smirk _that_ much when John sat very slowly on his chair, whining all the way down.

“Life has its ups and downs, does it not doctor?” our visitor smiled brightly (I do not know why he and John did not get on better as they shared a terrible sense of humour at times). “Sorry for the delay gentlemen, but we had to ask around the other house owners as well to make sure. None of them have entertained any fair-headed American gentlemen of late, except for the ambassador's rather curious son who is banned from our own establishments.”

“A son?” I said, surprised. “I thought that the current representative from across the Pond was single.”

“Mr. Joseph Conrad is separated from his first wife”, Lowen explained, “but he has a stepson from that marriage, a boy called Landon. A magnificent and well-endowed young gentleman in so many ways but... oh dear, the Good Lord most certainly made up for it by taking the same and more back in brains. I swear that if one stood close enough to him, one could hear the Atlantic rollers breaking.” He paused and rolled his tongue around his lips lasciviously before continuing, “it really is so much better with _real_ men who have brains as well as beauty.”

He stared pointedly at me. What was left of John growled unhappily from his chair, especially as he knew moving from where he was any time soon was not an option. But the increased rapidity of my beloved's breathing was.... interesting.

I just knew that someone was quietly cataloguing Surefire Methods Of Murdering Annoying Cornish Ex-fishermen.

“Do you have anything on our other American visitors?” I asked, suppressing a smile. 

He nodded and leered at me again, eliciting an angry growl from someone who could barely stand, let alone rush to my rescue. Although I was sure that that would not stop him being wonderfully and jealously possessive of my backside once our visitor had gone. And once he could move.

“Yes”, he said. “Something rather curious. Mr. Kenneth Hutchinson may not be selling his body exactly but he does seem to be selling something of his. Something quite unusual for a policeman.....”

֍

Once Lowen had explained himself I had a good idea of what our visiting detective was really up to. And it was terrible of the Cornishman to pretend he was suffering from a shoulder sprain and needed the doctor to examine him, not just because it enabled him to remove his upper clothing and still leer at me but because poor John had to stand up to attend to him.

They probably heard the yelp of pain from poor John all the way downstairs. The two of us really should tell him about how happy Lowen was with Philip.

Some day. 

I sent out another telegram and spent the rest of that day making casual comments about how wonderfully fit Lowen looked for a man in his _early_ forties and how pleasant he was to have around. John was seething by the time we adjourned to our room and he very forcibly staked his claim on me by folding me right over and fucking me twice before pulling me into a very close manly embrace that was definitely not the other thing that rhymed with huddling. There was also rather a lot of defensive growling that I did not hear, and complaints about annoying leering Cornish ex-fishermen and, for some strange and inexplicable reason, bastard smirking blue-eyed consulting detectives. I had no idea _who_ he could have meant!

֍

The following evening (i.e. once John could move again) we had arranged to meet Detective Starsky at a small and rather select nightclub in town called _'The Soul Place'_. I had made sure to wear the shirt with the higher collar; some horny and totally not jealous doctor had left hickeys _everywhere!_

At least the one under the panties was not rubbing!

Our client looked around the semi-lit room and was clearly impressed.

“So”, he said, “did you find out what Hutch was up to? I think he knows I'm worried about him but I haven't said anything.”

“That is good of you”, I said. “You suspected that Mr. Hutchinson who is even in your own estimate an attractive gentleman has been selling his body for sex?”

The detective winced at my frankness.

“Uh, yeah”, he said. “Is he?”

“Not exactly.”

The detective stared at me in confusion.

“What do you mean, 'not exactly'?” he asked. “You can't half-sell your body any more than you can be half-pregnant. And he's definitely getting money from somewhere; he gave a lot to the collection they were making at the station for Tim whose wife is expecting their first child, and he didn't tell me about it. I had to find out from the secretary.”

The small band started playing on the stage and I leaned forward.

“A word of advice”, I said quietly. _“Do not shout out.”_

He looked at me in confusion, then caught sight of the singer, announced as 'Mr. Soul', coming on to the stage. The fellow was blond, solidly built, about thirty years of age and would I suppose have been considered handsome by someone who did not have the most beautiful man in the world sitting (very gingerly still) across from him.

 _”Hutch?”_ the detective said incredulously as his fellow American began his song. Thankfully he had kept his voice down and we were far enough back from the stage

_“'Come on Silver Lady take my word,_   
_I won't run out on you again believe me._   
_Oh, I've seen the light,_   
_It's just one more fight,_   
_Without you._   
_Here I am ten thousand miles from home,_   
_The London wind and rain, they cut right through me,_   
_I'm lost and alone, chilled to the bone,_   
_Silver Lady.”_

“He can sing!” Detective Starsky said incredulously as the song came to an end. “The bastard can actually sing!”

“Many people can”, I said, “but his voice is actually quite pleasant. I think that we had better invite him to join us.”

I signalled to a lady in a grey dress and she nodded to me, then waited for the song to finish before bringing Mr. Hutchinson to our table. He came over looking friendly enough although his face fell visibly when he saw his colleague at the table.

“Davey?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“More to the point what are _you_ doing here?” Detective Starsky demanded.

“Making a fair amount of money quite legally”, I smiled as the singer blushed. 

“It seems a funny way to do it”, Detective Starsky said. “Still, it could have been worse.”

The lady in the grey dress stepped forward. She was really quite attractive and smiled at the singer.

“Kenny”, she purred, “don't forget to join me and the girls when your turn is over. We'll be waiting!”

She kissed him and sashayed off. Detective Starsky spluttered indignantly.

“Girls?” he asked his colleague. The singer nodded.

“The, uh, six dancing girls”, he grinned. “They, they sort of like the accent. Don't wait up for me, Davey!”

He sauntered back to the stage leaving his colleague speechless.

֍

“I suppose that Mr. Hutchinson is a lucky fellow”, John said later as we climbed the stairs back to our rooms in Baker Street. 

“Yes”, I said. “And he does have a superficial attractiveness, plus there is that accent. But six girls... his colleague was clearly quite jealous.”

“Six of you!” John shuddered at the thought. “I barely survive one.”

“There are some gentlemen who prefer what they call 'multiple choice'”, I said. “Most notably of course our friend Chatton Smith with his ever-ready Mr. Macdonald and his three sons, Mr. Blackwater and his sexually-overcharged friends, and not forgetting dear Luke when Sandy's half-brothers just happen to call by. We have never considered bringing anyone else in to our bedchamber, but I wonder....”

I was getting the sort of look that suggested the next murder to be investigated would likely be my own.

 _“What?”_ he said testily.

“I suppose that I could always ask if Lowen might be free one day.....”

He actually snarled at me and I fled up the stairs before him. Oh this was going to be such fun!

֍

It was!

֍


End file.
